Chapter 23: The Grand Social Gathering (3)
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 23: The Grand Social Gathering (3)
The frozen North.
A place where the biting cold lingers, so severe it seems no living thing could possibly survive.
There, in a land painted in cursed shades of ashen grey by an endless, lashing blizzard, a man lay collapsed.
Where his right arm should have been, red blood flowers bloomed in its stead.
Where his left eye should have been, there was only a hollow void.
This man was Klkan, the Great—one of the eight chieftains of the barbarians. Having been defeated by the cowardly knights of Calliban, he was now waiting for death.
Yet, even as he lay dying, his eyes were filled with a vivid, burning rage.
‘Those dogs who know nothing of honor…!’
His fury did not stem from the fact that he had lost.
To the barbarians who worshipped battle, death in combat was considered a glorious end.
The reason Klkan wore such a look of resentment was that he had been denied an honorable death. He had been ambushed, falling for a knight’s trickery after the man had proposed a "duel."
“Cough—!”
Klkan spat out a mouthful of blood.
Regardless of his rage, the ashen world grew increasingly blurred.
Regardless of his grief, his ears were slowly failing him.
Regardless of his despair, Klkan’s consciousness was gradually sinking beneath the surface.
And then, at the moment everything was about to return to perfect nothingness—
‘Ah, Uultultus….’
Klkan simply called out the name of his great god.
In that instant.
Snap—
Everything stopped.
His vision, which had been worse than blurred—pitch black—saw light once more.
The cruel winds of the North reached his ears again.
His consciousness, which had been drifting away into the depths, slowly rose to the surface.
And then.
[My flesh and blood.]
[Call to me.]
[Call my great name.]
[The name of the one]
[You once worshipped.]
[Call it, and I shall grant your desire.]
Following that grand guidance that felt like an absolute command, Klkan spoke as if possessed.
“Uultultus….”
He let out that faint murmur.
And soon, the entity that had become an Outer God smiled.
* * *
Immediately after hearing something that sounded like it belonged in a book titled I Woke Up and Somehow Became the Mastermind of Asteria, Alon closed his agape mouth and chewed slowly.
However, the sweetness he had been enjoying just moments ago was completely gone.
‘What kind of bullshit is this?’
Countless question marks floated through Alon’s mind before vanishing. He couldn't understand how such a rumor had even started.
If he had been close with Duke Altia or Count Zenonia—who were currently forming new factions—he could have understood the suspicion.
The problem was that Alon had never even met those two nobles.
The last time he had seen Duke Altia was at a ball back when she was still just a Young Lady, and while he had met the Zenonia Young Lady, he had never even laid eyes on Count Zenonia himself.
In other words, the rumor lacked any semblance of probability.
After pondering for a while and moving his jaw slowly, Alon concluded that the "secret conversation" he had overheard between the two nobles was nothing more than a baseless, absurd rumor.
One needs at least a shred of acquaintance for suspicion to take root; since there was absolutely no connection, Alon couldn't even bring himself to be worried.
Thus, by the time Alon reached for a cookie next to the egg tart—
“Count Palatio.”
“?”
Alon turned his head toward the voice.
Standing there was a man dressed in expensive clothing, his face twisted into a sneer.
‘Who is this guy?’
Alon scanned the man.
With his long, curly hair swept to one side, it was easy to tell at a glance that his personality was twisted in a different way than the usual Palatio style, but Alon couldn't glean any more information than that.
At the very least, Alon had no record of him in his memory.
“My apologies, I haven’t introduced myself. I am Carmine, the third son of Duke Comallon of the Ashtalon Kingdom.”
When Alon failed to recognize him, Carmine’s expression faltered for a split second before he introduced himself. Alon felt a brief moment of confusion before nodding.
He had heard that nobles from other nations often attended the Grand Social Gathering banquets, where most of the Asteria Kingdom’s nobility gathered.
“I am Count Palatio.”
Alon offered a polite greeting first.
“I know your name well. I heard you became a Count through sheer luck?”
“……?”
Alon blinked.
He had sensed from the man’s appearance that he hadn't come over to say anything pleasant, but he hadn't expected him to spit out an insult so bluntly, as if he possessed no intellect whatsoever.
Just as Alon was wearing a dazed expression—
“Sir, what exactly do you think you are saying right now?”
Alon turned his head toward another voice coming from the opposite side. This time, unlike with Carmine, he saw a familiar face.
‘……Marquis Mardinio?’
He didn't recognize him by face alone, but rather by the crest over his heart and his clear, middle-aged features.
“Are you insulting a noble of our Asteria Kingdom right now?”
“……?”
Alon looked bewildered at the sudden, unexpected shield being held up for him.
* * *
Carmine, the third son of Duke Comallon of the Ashtalon Kingdom, was not in a particularly good mood today.
There were several reasons, but the biggest was that despite the effort he took to come here, the marriage talk with the fifth daughter of Duke Lotegr was not going well.
Of course, the marriage proposal had fallen through purely because of Carmine’s immature—basically bratty—behavior. He had committed the absurdity of critiquing the looks of other young ladies right in front of the Duke’s fifth daughter.
But like the spoiled brat he was, Carmine refused to admit his fault. Instead, he was highly offended by the Young Lady’s suggestion that they should reconsider the marriage.
If this weren't the allied Asteria Kingdom—or rather, if it weren't the House of Duke Lotegr, with whom his family conducted many secret "backdoor" dealings—he would have flipped a table by now.
…Of course, Carmine seemed completely unaware that Duke Lotegr was only tolerating his tantrums because of the very secret relationship the Duke shared with Duke Comallon.
Regardless, in his foul mood, he had come to the ball to blow off some steam and spotted Count Palatio. He decided to pick a fight.
His reason was simple: to vent his frustration.
There were plenty of servants and knights around he could have ignored or bullied, but Carmine didn't find much joy in mocking them. It wasn't because he was a good person; it was because there was no fun in playing with toys he could break whenever he wanted.
To people like him, that was all commoners were. In that sense, Count Palatio was the perfect punching bag for Carmine to relieve his stress.
According to the rumors Carmine knew, Count Palatio was just a brat who had become a Count by luck and had no allies among the nobility.
Even as a brat, he knew he wasn't on his own turf, so Carmine had used his own version of "careful consideration" to pick a punching bag he thought he could hit without any consequences.
That was why he had picked a fight the moment he saw him, but—
“……Are you aware that insulting a noble of the Asteria Kingdom is a grave discourtesy?”
“No, that’s—”
“The Ashtalon Kingdom has been our long-time ally. But that is only because of mutual respect. Has the Ashtalon Kingdom perhaps lost its sense of respect?”
“No, it’s not that—”
“Hmph. Are you saying that Duke Comallon, the pillar of the Ashtalon Kingdom, views Asteria in such a light?”
“That is absolutely not the case……!”
“Then why are you speaking so rudely to a Count, using his name so carelessly when you haven't even properly inherited your own title?”
“Th-that’s—”
Carmine looked utterly confused.
Contrary to the rumors he had heard, the moment he picked a fight with Count Palatio, nobles began popping up out of nowhere to grill him.
Flustered, he turned his gaze back to Alon.
However, Alon himself was staring blankly at the situation, his usual expressionless face hiding a mix of extreme bewilderment and confusion.
‘……What is even happening right now?’
He looked at the three nobles currently defending him.
One was Marquis Mardinio.
Another was Duke Lotegr.
The last was Count Palan.
Alon could recognize them easily not just by their crests, but because their reputations within Asteria were incredibly high.
Marquis Mardinio was a giant within the Royal Faction.
Duke Lotegr, conversely, was a heavyweight of the Noble Faction.
And Count Palan, while maintaining political neutrality, was a man who had accumulated significant power precisely by holding that position.
No matter how uninterested Alon was in politics and nobility, these were people no Asterian noble could possibly fail to know.
“Is Duke Comallon truly looking down on us?”
“N-no, sir.”
“Then why on earth did you speak so recklessly to the Count?”
“I…… I have committed a discourtesy.”
“The discourtesy isn't the only issue. The point is, why did you speak to Count Palatio with such blatant disregard?”
Watching the nobles corner Carmine with repetitive, circular logic—the kind of rhetoric only those who have spent their lives in politics could master—Alon pondered for a moment before suddenly realizing where he had seen this before.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Does being sorry end your military service?’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I asked if being sorry ends your military service!’
Ah—this was it.
As Alon broke into a cold sweat at the vivid memory flashing through his mind—a memory from over ten years ago—the scene reached its climax.
“I…… I have committed a grave discourtesy……!”
Unable to withstand the grilling from the high-ranking nobles, Carmine eventually fled the ball. As soon as he vanished, the nobles approached Alon as if they had been waiting for the chance.
“Count Palatio, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, but…”
Alon looked at the three nobles, his eyes practically screaming, Why are you doing this for me?
However.
“Look at that. It seems those gentlemen have already heard the rumors.”
“……The rumors must be true. For those giants to move like that.”
“If Duke Altia and Count Zenonia get involved in politics, it will be overwhelming. Anyway, look, the other nobles are confused. It’s still a secret rumor, so watch your mouth.”
“…Where… where do you even hear these things?”
“I have my ways.”
Thanks to his hearing, which was still enhanced by mana, Alon caught the whispers of the nobles who had been gossiping earlier. He finally realized, with a look of absurdity, how this situation was unfolding.
“Now that I think about it, I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to speak with you, Count. Well, I understand you must be very busy.”
Starting with Marquis Mardinio, who spoke with a knowing chuckle as if he were in on everything, the three nobles began acting friendly. Alon seriously considered whether he should tell them the rumor was false.
There was more than enough potential for things to get complicated later.
However, he worried that speaking up now would make the entire situation incredibly awkward. As he debated what to do—
“Ah, by the way, I heard the Count is researching magic. Is that correct?”
“It is, but…”
“Then would you like a small gift from me? Among the artifacts I obtained after subjugating a pack of orcs, there is a relic that can store mana for later use. What do you think?”
“Now that you mention it, I have a gift prepared as well—”
Alon fell silent at the ensuing offers.
……And that day, Alon walked away with two magic artifacts and five highest-grade mana recovery potions from the three nobles.
And.
While most of the nobles watched in confusion as the sudden crowd of heavyweights swarmed Alon—
‘We messed with the wrong person…….’
‘W-we’re really in for it now……!!’
Count Craild and Count Edorn squeezed their eyes shut in despair.
* * *
Four days into the banquet.
Just as Alon’s list of "spoils" was somehow growing one by one—
“……An Outer God has descended in the North?”
“Yes. That’s the information that came in. They say the purple crystals are related to that Outer God as well…… but since their info comes from ancient texts, they aren't entirely sure.”
“…….”
“Anyway, Calliban is in an absolute uproar because of it.”
With only two days left of the banquet, Alon listened to the report from the information guild and began to deliberate. Soon after—
“……Evan.”
“Yes.”
“As soon as the banquet is over and I’ve finished my business, we’re heading straight to Calliban.”
He made his decision without a moment's hesitation.